The Earthquake Bird
by Alchemistry
Summary: AU Haruno Sakura was taken into custody for murdering her best friend. Secrets plague her life. "I've finally found my match at killing."
1. Prologue

Title: The Earthquake Bird

Author: Eliways

Franchise: Naruto

Summary: Haruno Sakura had never been good at keeping secrets. After being taken into custody for murdering her best friend, she thinks she finally uncovered the biggest secret of all. "I've found my match at killing."

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

* * *

><p>Prologue:<p>

The tremors awoke me before the palpitations of my heart did.

Although I had already been living in Japan for more than a decade, I still felt the familiar flutters in my heartbeat and an impending sense of doom. I sat up on my futon and glanced around the darkened room cautiously. The illuminated digital numbers on my clock showed 2:12. The faint green light of my clock and the ethereal glow of the moon through my window were the only things which allowed me to see the brief outline of my things.

In the distance, I heard a faint creaking sound. A burglar, I thought. I crept out from under my covers and grabbed a baseball bat I always put next to me. For security reasons, I told myself. Truth be told, I had always hoped that I would never have to use it. I swallowed and padded my way to the living room. I stopped and inhaled shallowly but quietly.

Nothing moved.

I exhaled.

After hiding behind a pillar for a few more minutes, I felt foolish. Nobody was there. It was probably my imagination, I consoled myself. However, just as I was ready to accept that shallow explanation, the creaking sound came again. It took all of my control not to scream and brandish my weapon blindly in the air.

Beads of perspiration rolled down the nape of my neck. Summer was relentlessly hot, and I slept with only a small electrical fan in my room. I advanced slowly.

As I reached the entrance of my small apartment, I hesitantly unlocked the door and peered outside. There was nothing out of the ordinary, much to my relief and slight disappointment.

The subtle crowds of the night still mingled with each other on the colorful streets, and I could almost smell the scent of alcohol and sweat on my tongue. Nighttime in Tokyo was a whole new experience, utterly different from the grey skyscrapers and majestic glass facades of the day. It seemed that a whole new crowd of people only came out of their houses when the sun set, and relished the darkness and security only nighttime could provide.

As I sighed softly to myself, the creaking sound came on again. I stilled immediately.

I had already established the fact that there was no intruder, but I was still intent on finding the source.

I listened closely, and traced the strange creaking sound to a queer little object which moved every time something touched it. It resembled a metal letterbox, except that it was miniscule in size. Illuminated by the faint glow of the moon, I could not make out what it really resembled, but it was hidden in a corner between the door of my neighbor and mine. Behind all the cluttered items such as pots of various plants and faded bicycles, I had never really given much thought to what could be hiding behind the mass of junk. It looked peculiarly strange, with rust coating it, but not to the extent where it looked worn or faded. It looked timeless, like and antique out from a fairy tale book. I made a mental note to ask Sachiko-san what that object was in the morning, and then headed in.

As I lay down on my futon, the tremors which had stopped earlier continued. I shivered slightly and consoled myself that tremors like those were common. From experience, I had no reason to worry. However, I could not slow down the rapid beating of my heart.

It was times like these when I secretly missed the feeling of a warm bed and the naive innocence which only childhood could blatantly disguise under the transparent act of youth. I was frightened, and I was nervous, but I tried my best to deviate my thoughts from my current predicament.

The kanji for earthquake is 地震 _jishin_, and _jishin_ can also mean 自信 – self-confidence, I mused silently.

With that, I spent the remainder of the night connecting random hiragana with their respective kanji, forcing myself to nod off to the soothing lull of the Japanese language.

The next day, I woke up groggily and rubbed my eyes. The events which had happened the previous night played out in my head. I felt a little queasy and tired, having been awoken by the tremors in the earth, but I dragged myself out of bed and washed up, before heading to work.

I worked in a translation firm, and my main job was to translate Japanese texts into English. At the moment, I was currently working on translating a brief manual for a small company wanting to make their debut in the US. The manual was for a piece of equipment which merged the functions of a cell phone and a thermometer together. Quite ingenious, really, I thought. It was an enjoyable piece of text to translate, for the words used were relatively simple, and their quirky style of advertising was a brief respite from the longer, small-print manuscripts which numerous other companies had taken to adopt.

As I was typing in my last sentence, my co-worker, Naruto, came by.

"Sakura, do you want to have lunch with me? A new ramen restaurant opened around the corner! I heard that their food's really good!"

Naruto, with his clear blue eyes and shock of blonde hair, smiled lightly at me. There was no doubt that he was a handsome young man, and his easy-going nature was one of the few things which made me warm up to him immediately when I first moved to Japan.

"Sure."

I packed up my things and took my overcoat, following him as we used our company-issued cards to sign out of the office. Just as my card made contact with the scanner, another face loomed behind the glass.

It was a police officer.

I recognized the outfit immediately, having been introduced to it when I first came to Japan by my tiny neighbor, Sachiko-san.

"Ne, Sakura-chan, hope you won't meet one wearing his uniform… oh, but without it… now that's another story," She had winked mischievously, then resumed her usual routine of potting about her rows of plants.

I had stammered and turned at least three different shades of red, giving her the illusion that I was still a young virgin.

At the moment, however, I felt nothing when the handsome man turned his gaze on to me, glanced back to the piece of paper in his hand, and deadpanned, "You're under arrest Haruno Sakura, for murdering Yamanaka Ino. You will be taken into custody and interrogation. You have the right to remain silent. Everything that you say will be used as evidence against you."

With that, I was whisked away by the policeman. Naruto looked indignant on my behalf, but I felt empty. Nothing came to mind as his strong hands gripped my thin arms tightly.

I shook my head, annoyed. I wasn't going to escape.

Naruto was sputtering nonsense and was trying to get the policeman's attention, but the policeman purposely ignored the blonde and dragged me to his car. The last I saw of my workplace was Naruto's shocked, yet fuming features, and the looming grey of the building.

Dumbass.

* * *

><p>As I was introduced to the police station, I noticed disinterestedly that the interrogation room was grey and dull, just like Tokyo itself. The lamp was glaringly bright and it pointed right at my face, casting my interrogator's face in shadows.<p>

"Why me?" I asked them. I was genuinely interested how they had managed to connect Ino's death to me.

"Your neighbor – Sachiko-san, told us that she had seen you two arguing before Yamanaka-san's death. Apparently, it was a heated argument. You had slammed the door in her face. This gives us reason that to suspect that you had committed Yamanaka-san's murder."

"Because I slammed a door. That seems like a dumb reason."

"Anger is not, though."

"Well, I didn't do it."

"You are currently the prime suspect. Do you know how Yamanaka-san was found? Her dead body was found in a dumpster in an alley."

"I know. I read the news."

"Did it occur to you that it was Yamanaka-san? From what we know, the news did not mention the victim's name."

"The description fitted her. And I hadn't heard from her in days."

"There are many foreigners in Japan, Haruno. Yamanaka-san was not the only blonde woman in Tokyo."

"No use giving me a geography lesson. I already know this stuff. After all, I'm a foreigner too."

* * *

><p>Author's notes: This is going to be a multi-chapter story.<p>

Reviews are highly appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 1

Title: The Earthquake Bird

Author: Eliways

Franchise: Naruto

Summary: Haruno Sakura had never been good at keeping secrets. After being taken into custody for murdering her best friend, she thinks she finally uncovered the biggest secret of all. "I've found my match at killing."

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

* * *

>Chapter 1:<p><p>

It all started about a few months ago, I suppose.

I remembered that it was drizzling; nothing too heavy, just a light, refreshing bout of rain. I remembered not having an umbrella with me. My hands were empty then. Unlike other girls who sought to carry their cute clutches or tiny handbags with them, who slung them fashionably on their slender shoulders, I had opted to carry my valuables in the roomy pocket of my hooded jacket. It kept the rain out of my pink tresses, and prevented anyone from gawking at my appearance. It wasn't that I looked bad, it was just that my frame was thin and pale, and with the _wonderful_ addition of pink hair and green eyes, I stood out within the swirling crowd of black and grey, eye-catching even by Tokyo's eccentric standards.

The pavement was slick with water, and the dull grey of the concrete and inky black of the asphalt mirrored the crowd's attire. Many of them had worn trendy coats of black and grey, with some adding bold splashes of colour to their otherwise uniform appearance. All of them save for some, carried umbrellas. Their umbrellas, surprisingly, clashed with their attire.

That is one of the reasons I love rainy days. The whole street will be awash with colour!

From a high vantage point, the streets of Tokyo would have flowers of colours and designs adorning the usual grey streets, with people mingling about under the rain. It seemed that only under the curtain of water, would the neon signs shine at that brightest.

I took my time walking past the hurrying crowd, surveying them from the corner of my eye. To be honest, there wasn't anything worth observing. Everyone looked the same. Perhaps it was because they had on the same blank expression, their feet on auto-pilot, or perhaps it was because their eyes were all glazed across, looking past everyone else. I sighed, and my breath came out in light puffs of smoke.

As I ambled slowly across the road, people pushed past me, muttering '_sumimasen_ すみません' under their breaths. They looked like they were in such a hurry. Were they secretly diagnosed with cancer? Did they only have three months more to live? Maybe they had important meetings. I wasn't to know, was I? That wasn't my business anyway.

As I turned into a different street, I recognized the high-end shops that catered only to the rich. The shop attendants turned their noses up at you if you weren't dressed properly. I glanced down at my worn skinny jeans and faded jacket; they sure as hell weren't going to let me in, I smirked wryly.

As I walked down further, I passed by a huge hotel. The glittering interior was inviting and warm. There was a kindly-looking doorman at the entrance. He smiled and waved politely at customers leaving and entering the hotel. However, the clientele ignored him purposefully as they walked daintily down the marble steps, flaunting their sparkling jewelry and branded coats. It _obviously_ only catered to the rich.

I shook my head, ready to leave. However, I glanced upon a young man from my peripheral vision. Unlike others, I was drawn to him, attracted.

He was kneeling down, a camera in his hand. He was taking pictures of a puddle which had formed on the sidewalk. Each droplet of water made tiny ripples in the puddle, and the puddle itself reflected an almost perfect image of the gigantic hotel. The puddle made it seem so magical and fairytale-like.

He looked so perfect, so beautiful, so fragile.

He looked so absorbed in his work.

He looked like he was made of rain, made of ice.

_Potsu, potsu, potsu…_

His ebony hair stuck up in wild directions at the back, but his fringe framed his alabaster face perfectly. His dark, dark, dark eyes stared intently at the screen of his camera. His long tapered fingers handled the camera so expertly. His lean figure crouched on the ground looked so forlorn, so lonely, so _magical_.

Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to him.

Perhaps it was also because he wasn't carrying an umbrella. How could you, when both of your hands were occupied? Perhaps it was because of his intent gaze and focus. How could you be so drawn to that puddle? Perhaps it was because he wasn't moving. How could you, when you were taking photographs? Perhaps it was because he looked ethereal, like he was made of rain. How could you look so _real_, yet not at all?

I had no idea what made me walk up to him. I boldly allowed my sneakers to dip slightly into the puddle he was photographing. He looked up, and I saw his perfect, _perfect_ face up close. The raindrops mussed up his hair a little, but they slid down each porcelain cheek gracefully. The Rain Prince, I thought.

He flashed me a wry smile, and I smiled back. He continued to photograph the puddle, but he had not asked me to remove my sneakers. He had accepted my invitation then.

As he clicked the shutter, he looked up from his camera, and his ebony eyes bore deeply into mine.

I knew that instant that he _knew_ what I was thinking.

We walked quietly down the street, and people steered clear of us. We made an odd couple, I guess. Both of us had no umbrellas, and we were drenched from head to toe. His long tapered fingers interlaced with my shorter ones, and we made our way up a stairwell.

Before I knew it, both of us were kissing passionately, and his cold lips were pressed onto mine fervently. In the privacy of his apartment, our clothes were torn off in seconds, and as we landed on his bed, I arched and cried in ecstasy. He too, released in me with a grunt, and we landed side by side, exhausted.

I took a long time staring at his face, not wanting to give in to my fatigued eyelids. His eyes bored into mine this time, and he initiated the conversation.

"Sasuke."

I blinked twice, and then I realized that he had told me his name. The Rain Prince's name is Sasuke. I smiled. His smooth baritone suited him perfectly, like the rumble of distant thunder.

"Sakura."

My voice felt weak and pathetic in comparison to his. I frowned.

"I'm a photographer. It's my passion."

His velvet voice came again. I searched his face, his body for a flaw. None came into sight. He is _perfect_.

"I translate things. It's my job."

"Aa."

That ended our conversation, and I fell into a deep slumber, with him breathing by my side.


	3. Chapter 2

Title: The Earthquake Bird

Author: Eliways

Franchise: Naruto

Summary: Haruno Sakura had never been good at keeping secrets. After being taken into custody for murdering her best friend, she thinks she finally uncovered the biggest secret of all. "I've found my match at killing."

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

* * *

><p>After that, Sasuke and I continued our meetings with each other. It wasn't complicated, just wonderfully pure and innocent. I had no doubts or qualms about our connection; it was just <em>there<em>.

Sasuke is wonderful.

He reminded me strongly of a lost artist, his soul battling for salvation amidst the cold harsh world which viewed art so cynically. His photographs were strong in clarity, yet so fragilely breakable at the same time. Perhaps it was because the quality of the photographs he took were so mind-shatteringly beautiful, or perhaps it was because the way he crouched down or angled his camera was so reminiscent of perfection.

Sasuke is perfect.

I knew his routine. After his work, he would go to downtown Tokyo, and with his black camera angled at the abstract infrastructure, he would press the shutter with his dexterously long fingers. Then, he would share the picture with me, showing it to me wordlessly on his screen.

My favourite photographs were those of nighttime Tokyo. Ever since I had set foot in Japan four years ago, I had fallen in love with the quietly bustling streets of the night, where a different crowd would emerge under the starry sky.

Our relationship did not consist of words. I suppose it was more on my part than his, that I was so hopelessly attracted to him. I can't remember any of the words we said to each other. Perhaps in our mute conversations, he had told me his past, his dreams, and his hopes. I could remember none of them. Nonetheless, every breath I took next to him was exhilarating. I wanted to keep him, covet him, cherish him.

My attraction to him bordered on love, perhaps, but never crossed that line, I was sure.

Many a time under the inky sky would I stand next to him in silence, leaning on him and making sure that my breaths were in tempo with his.

His apartment was one of the things which did not show his perception, depth, and _perfection_.

I enjoyed looking. Sakura cannot visit a home, occupied or not, without imagining herself within it.

His apartment is bare, furnished with only the most basic essentials. There is a couch, a bed, a table, and a few haphazardly strewn chairs. The only thing which is worth looking at, I suppose, is that Room. Room had many, many, many Boxes. Boxes contained many, many, many photographs. The photographs were developed, and I was sure that they had all been taken by Sasuke's fingers.

Room is just a normal room. Measuring eleven feet by eleven feet, it forms a perfect square. I remember on the east wall, there is a long, thin crack going down the middle, almost splitting the wall in half.

I remember going through the boxes in awe, dusting away the fine grains of dust which had settled over the items. Sasuke had not been in this room for a long time. At least a week, I calculated. As I opened the first box, the one perched the highest, I found stacks and stacks of photographs, bundled up neatly.

I tore the rubber band away almost impatiently, and sifted through the photographs. It gave me a kind of thrill, to know that I was finally able to have some proof of Sasuke's personal life. Sakura was extremely happy.

The first few photographs showed scenes of suburban Japan. There was a faded old bicycle, which held a mystic quality that only Sasuke could achieve in his pictures. Then there was a mailbox, which looked so nostalgic and beautiful at the same time. Then there was a noodle shop, with a tired-looking old man manning the front. The old man was not smiling. In fact, he looked rather angry. His beady eyes bore into the camera, and his mouth was curled in distaste. Perhaps he was angry at Sasuke?

Then as I sifted through the pictures, I found two pictures of the same girl.

Sakura is shocked and furious.

The girl, in the first picture, is bespectacled. She has long, beautiful, striking red hair with one side straight and coiffed, and the other side messed up in punk-rock fashion style. She was smiling, her red lips opening to show two rows of perfect, white teeth. What made me so sick was that I found her to be… _pretty_. The next picture shows the same girl. In this picture, she might still have been a beauty, but she looks utterly tired and faded. Her white complexion looks too white in the photograph, and her eyes are closed. Her brown spectacles were strewn to one side, and her body is positioned at an awkward angle on the ground. There is a party in the background, and the flashing lights of the party behind are captured in the picture, illuminating her face starkly. A bottle of beer was clutched fervently in her hands.

Enraged, I pocketed the two pictures and restored the rest into the box. Sasuke would not find out about this. He was too busy anyway. I was quite sure he was outside, taking melancholic photographs of the night scene, and perhaps looking statuesque in his pose and having a faraway look in his eyes.

However, as I exited Room, Sasuke just entered his apartment.

"What were you doing in there?" he deadpanned.

"Looking through your photographs. I was curious."

He looked at me. This time, I felt no flutter in my chest, but the cold, constricting grip of fear around my gut.

Perhaps I looked guilty, or perhaps he was watching me, I had no idea, but I passed the two pictures of the mysterious girl to him. I felt… ashamed.

He looked angry. I was scared. Sakura trembled lightly, before timidly closing the gap between them. I hugged him lightly.

"Who is she?"

Sasuke shrugged me off, and I heard two syllables before he closed his room door.

"Karin."

Taking his sullen retreat as a cue to leave, I pondered about the mysterious girl, Karin. The second picture looked much more comforting to look at. I did not have to deal with the mental stress that Sasuke would be constantly comparing me to her every time. She looked… _dead_ in that picture. You can't compare a dead girl to a live one. There is simply no room for comparison.

_You can evade life, but never death._

One thing was sure. She was gone, and Sasuke is mine.

Out of his apartment and into the streets, I was suddenly out of the closed darkness and into an open one. Somehow, I felt scared. A few late-night stragglers dotted the vicinity, and I found solace in their company. The India-ink sky had many twinkling stars adorning it, but the feeling they gave me was hardness. They seemed to tremble, then fade silently, before reappearing a few moments later.

The apartment block looked still in the looming darkness. Then I heard a soft 'click', barely audible if I had not been straining my ears. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I _knew_ that I was being watched.

* * *

><p>Author's note: To be continued.<p>

Reviews are highly appreciated. :)


End file.
